Mister Sandman
by Gabriel Seraph
Summary: In a strangely familiar post-apocalyptic world, Carl and Sophia are the first to learn that the infamous butcher Miles Matheson has come to the Georgia Federation...but why? And why have they suddenly been sharing nightmares about attacks by the undead? AU for both shows (especially TWD), action violence, moderate language. Look for crossovers with other universes.


AN: This story is highly, very extremely AU for both TWD and RVN. The premise will be that the apocalypse of one of these shows never happened...but what about the other? Scenes taken from both shows will be depicted herein. Stay tuned.

Also, even though I am using the _Sleepy Hollow_ Sandman as the cover image, I currently have no plans to include him, or anything else remotely Sleepyheaded, in this story. It will instead be connected to the same massive multi-verse I'm starting to grow with Scarlet and Raven, Diluvion, and Dark Wings (this last is pretty significant, because I'm totally aping _The Hunger Games_ with my opening scene here), and may eventually find its way west to join up with some of the other inhabitants of this 'verse.

Science? I don't need no stinking science! Sanity-free storytelling, that's the order of the day from me!

R&R and enjoy!

Mister Sandman

Chapter 1

Shivering, Carl pulled the sheets back up and tried to force himself to fall back asleep. But he almost didn't want to - not after the bizarre nightmare that had awoken him. He'd been exploring a house, a nice two-story house full of rich-people stuff from Before, and then he opened the wrong door and got a zombie right in his face. The zombie had clawed at Carl, even after he'd broken its wrist in the door, and knocked him to the floor, causing him to lose one shoe in the process.

It took a good long time before Carl fell asleep again, and before long, he found himself in a continuation of his previous dream. Having successfully trapped the zombie in another room, he grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote on the door: "WALKER INSIDE. GOT MY SHOE. DIDN'T GET ME." Then he stood back, admired his handiwork, and next thing he knew, he was on the roof, eating out of an enormous 112-ounce can of chocolate pudding. _All for myself?_ he thought. _Man. I'm gonna be shittin_' _brown for weeks. _Meanwhile, the zombie he'd trapped was sticking its busted arm out of the partially-open window, waving its hands and groaning feebly. Carl tried to imagine what the zombie would've said if it were still capable of speech. "Hey, I want some pudding too! Sharing is caring, assclown!"

At this point, the sun streamed in through the bedroom windows full force, and Carl rolled over, clambered out of bed, and closed the shutters, adjusting the louvers so the sunlight could still filter in to an extent. Quickly, he got dressed and headed out the door before anyone could see him and say good morning. He found his way into the woods and fished out the cache of knives he kept under the birch tree with the three slashes carved into its side. Opening the box, Carl removed his favorite knife from the set - it looked like it could easily have been an ordinary kitchen knife, except for the heavily weighted handle. He held the knife at his side, slowly making his way through the trees, until he saw his first target.

The poor lynx didn't stand a chance. It looked up from the water at exactly the last second, and exactly the worst possible time, right as Carl's knife impacted smack in the middle of its triangular ears. The lynx didn't even have time to squeal in pain before it fell forward, its head dipping below the surface of the river. Even if it were still alive, it wouldn't be for much longer, not with its breathing so compromised.

Carl grabbed the lynx by the tail and dragged it downriver to another birch tree, this one marked with a single knife-scar. He set up a small pile of firewood and focused the sunlight through the spyglass buried at the birch's base until he got a good campfire going. Then he got to work skinning the lynx, setting aside its pelt and then sticking random meat parts onto branches, which he rotated over the fire.

"What's cookin' today?" asked a voice. Carl looked up to see Sophia standing over him, slingshot in hand.

"Lynx," Carl said. "Couldn't find anything today?"

Sophia shook her head. "Nothing edible, I'm afraid."

"So what exactly did you find?"

Sophia pointed further down the river. "Illegal border-crossers."

"Really?" Sophia nodded. "Oh, shit." Carl clutched his knife tightly, like a sort of totem. He was afraid of this. His dad had warned him this day might come. "Wanna go check it out?"

"They should still be there," Sophia said. "Just put out the fire first. The last thing we want is to get caught by these guys."

Carl nodded grimly. He knew as well as anyone the extreme danger posed by soldiers of the Monroe Militia.

Except as soon as Sophia led Carl to a point where they could see the border fence, he could tell that these people, whoever they were, were most certainly not Militia. Not in their civilian duds. As he watched, one of them, a glamorous young blonde woman in her early twenties, turned back to the fence. A scruffy-looking man with dark hair turned to her and barked something at her, to which the blonde responded, "I've never left the Monroe Republic." The sound was able to carry quite a long way across the grassy knoll.

The man paused before answering, "You're a hick." He turned away from the blonde, and Carl froze, immediately recognizing the face of this man. Along with General Sebastian Monroe, Carl had seen images of this man were routinely defaced in various ways, creative or not - burning in effigy, crumpling up the photos and eating them, throwing them to the ground and pissing on them.

"What's he doing here?" Sophia asked, sensing Carl's fear.

Carl shook his head again and retreated from their listening post. "Whatever it is, it can't be good," he said. He raced back upriver to the campfire he'd just built and set to work tearing it apart, then throwing the lynx parts into the water. It was a waste, but it sure as hell beat being captured and tortured by a would-be incognito Miles Matheson and party.


End file.
